


In Which the Heart knows Nothing

by SinnamonCupcakes



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Death, Domestic, Everything inbetween, Lost Love, Mafia AU, Regret, greif, life - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-30 23:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonCupcakes/pseuds/SinnamonCupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>In which Celestial beings reveal time's importance.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Celestial Voice

**Author's Note:**

> In which Celestial beings reveal time's importance.

The ticking of a clock is something that everyone knows. To be it, passing time, passing days, or the end of a life. Everyone knows the ticking of a clock. The time in a life can equate to over Eight hundred thousand hours. Does a clock show you how much time has passed, or how much time you have left? It's all dependant on the person. Some are cut short, some are longer, and some... never even get to start their first minute. All is decided in time. Dancing about life on tip toes is better than slamming your heel down into the sharp pavement, so why risk it? There is never to be another story like others. One deals with a melancholy life, the other deals with fighting on the front lines. One contains the sharpness of a blade, to which extent means something different to everybody. 

The ticking of a clock marks life. The ticking of a clock, counts down life. Depending on who you are, and what you have done, be it sin or remain pure in the face of religion, it all matters not. For it is your life that you determine. Allowing others to paint in the pictures will never get you far. Painting other's pictures, will not get you far. 

Thousands of colors can remain unknown, for the mind's eye thinks all are named. The mind's eye, only knows of which it is told. Thousands of colors equate to what can be told. Emotions, days, the look of a person. All are colors that we name as things, and all are things that we perceive to be in our life. There is nothing that can equate to what one person sees, lives, and experiences. 

The ticking of a clock, marches on, and demands that life continue on, even if it is to eventually end. 


	2. Mistakes are Tossed into the Fire

Smoke fills the circulated air that once held a soft light, the outside world now a dark, seemingly endless night. Taking a long drag onto the burning tobacco, then smothering the hot substance into the glass ashtray that rests perfectly to the right on the dark oak desk. Papers littered the surface in piles, nothing that was extensive, but surely time consuming. For once, it was silent. There was nothing to catch his ear, not even the small hum of the fan that had stopped. A light wasn't on in the dark office that once was full of bloodshed. 

A target he had become, and lays silently in the plush leather chair. It wasn't fair for him to endanger anyone else that wasn't necessary. Of course, the entrance was blocked by those who were truly loyal to this messed up man. One shot outside.

Another one followed in the hallway. Silence. The ticking of the grandfather clock that sat in the back corner being the only thing besides the otherwise calm heart beating in the Don's chest. 

Footsteps, edging closer and closer to the dark office. The only light being emitted from the flick of a lighter, the worn and calloused fingers picking back up the cigar that he had debated on either keeping it dulled or to continue on with another cancerous inhale. It wasn't much longer that he'd have to live. He gave a silent thank you to the lives who were surely expensed. He told them that he'd be killed regardless, but the few who stuck around said that they'd rather die than have him accept death with welcome arms.

He sent a message, the soft light breaking through the dark. He knew about the astral event tonight. Afterall, that's all that they would talk about to him. The meteor shower that they were supposed to go see, hand in hand, on this day. He hit the send button, turning his phone onto silent and 'do not disturb' as to not give him away immediately. He exhaled the grey smoke, filling the sting of nicotine in his lungs as he slowly let it go. 

He contemplated for just a moment, death's timer being slowed down. He was sorry for all the anniversaries he'd miss, or had already missed. He was sorry that there was nothing he could do now. He was sorry for accidentally snapping when they didn't deserve it. He was sorry, for being such a horrible man to them. 

Them. How they had changed his smile. How they would sing out in a gleeful laugh when he would come home with flowers. He apologized to himself, again and again. Steps were echoing closer. He inhaled deeply, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs to the brim, almost to where it hurt. He held it, allowing the sting to consume him, the urge to exhale and cough being overwhelming, but he just exhaled through his nose, allowing a couple more thoughts to slither into his mind. 

About the nights in the office, about the way his men put complete trust into him. He thanked each man who ran through his mind. Thanking them for standing beside him no matter what. They all knew that they wouldn't hear the kindness in his heart. They all knew that their boss was someone who would protect those who came into his grasp. They knew that he was a boss that couldn't be replaced. Jack wouldn't hear these words either, but they wouldn't change anything at this point. 

He looked around, for what would be the last time. The clock, the plants, everything. The picture frames on his desk that were now missing pictures, those glossed thick papers in the coat of his jacket, wanting to keep those who had his heart, who were his world, close to his heart in his last moments. Another drag of the cigar, allowing himself to indulge in the smoke that seemed to outmatch the ache in his heart. 

The door slammed open, guns pointed at his face. He stood slowly, straightening his suit, pulling the cigar from his lips, keeping the hot tobacco in his fingers. He breathed out, smoke filling the uncirculated air again, hanging for a moment before dispersing throughout. He smiled, welcomingly to what would be his end. 

"Gentlemen. You can get your shots in. I only have 3 simple requests for you." He smiled, standing in the square in front of the clock. "One, You close the door behind you, Two, You leave my mask untouched, and intact. You will get fingerprints all over and I don't want that. Three..." He paused, the man closest to the door swinging the door closed. Jack smiled, giving a soft 'I love you.' In his mind to the two who he'd know were on the top of the cliff, gazing at the passing stars overhead. He dropped his Cigar, the carpet suddenly in flames. The fire quickly spread along everyone, Jack calmly stepping back into his desk, into the leather chair, Guns being pointed at Jack, thumbs on the trigger, the door unmoving, a code pad lighting up green when the door was closed.

"Make sure to stop by when we're all in hell, boys."


	3. Eyes don't lie, the heart does

A small vibration took the heterochromia eyes off of the night sky, pigtails shifting to look at the taller figure next to her. He was shaking, before picking her up. "We have to go, now." She took his hand, questioning why. He quickly ran, his chest breathing in the cold air of the night, his tears breaking through his eyes. He quickly dropped her off to the dinner, his mother looking over and quickly took Angel, his body rushing to the office where Jack took care of everything, his body quaking with the text that he was last sent. 

"Hey, Kiddo... I have to ask for something with you first.. don't be mad with me, and I'm sorry. There is nothing I would want more than to see you happy and to be with you, kiddo. I love you. Please watch over Angel in my... permanent absence for me. -Jack." Rhys was ready to scream his ass off to get Jack from pulling this again. He kept running, eventually falling in the street when a stranger wouldn't move out of the way for him. He felt the burning sensation of his skin being torn from the harsh pavement. He quickly got back up, faltering, not caring about the burns and cuts that he had gotten. He was shaking, his body nearly falling over, seeing a crowd outside of the office, flames engulfing the dark. Jack was in there, Rhys heard his mind scream. He quickly ran to the building, people trying to pull him back. He screamed out, screaming that his husband was in there. He kept fighting the wave of strangers holding him back. 

He kept fighting, pushing them off of him, eventually breaking into the building, smoke filling his lungs as he fought his life up the stairs. He screamed out, rushing to the door, the fire starting to spread. He shook it once, twice, the door not budging. "JACK GOD DAMNIT!" He paused as his lungs forced him to cough out the foreign smoke. "COME OUT OF THERE YOU FUCKER!" He was sobbing, finding himself collapsing against the burning door. He pounded his fist as hard as he could against the door. He knew it was reinforced, but that didn't matter. His body was lifted up, someone slapping on an oxygen mask to his face, his vision, and the world around him together, becoming a blur. He was shaking, fighting against the fireman as he weakly flailed his body to go back and be with Jack. 'Save him, please' was all he begged, Three others rushing in and tried to get through the door, extinguishing the seemingly black flames of death. 

Rhys was stubborn, crying out that he needed to stay here to see Jack leave the building. He would go to the hospital once Jack came out. He curled his hands over his chest, not wanting to believe what was happening. They eventually forced him on the gurney when he was too weak to fight back. He sobbed, not responding to questions as his thoughts filled his ears. He couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. Not on their anniversary. He was quaking with fear and grief, his heart unable to process that Jack was most likely... dead. It couldn't be true. He refused to believe something like that. Soon enough, Jack would meet him up at the hospital and be there for him. He would apologize, Rhys would be able to breathe, He would be able to move forward. 

The ambulance sped ahead, his body giving into a sickly rest, his eyes glazed over and body breathing in an off pattern. They pulled in, taking him in for care. They woke him up, his voice horsley filling in what they needed to know before they moved him to a room, hooking him up to an oxygen mask. He cried silently, begging for anyone to tell him that his Husband had come back to see him. That he was okay. He was promised that as soon as they heard anything that they'd let him know, being cut off by the sudden rush of doctors, a bloodied mess being brought in. Rhys started to sit up to see who it was, thinking it might have been him. He was shaking, the nurse forcing him to lay back down, pleading that he needed rest. He was shaking, demanding that he know who was brought in. 

He trembled, eventually being given a light anesthetic so he could properly rest. His world swirled with an unexplainable darkness, chest rising and following with the oxygen that flooded in through the mask. He fell into a dreamless, lifeless slumber. He stilled, his heart beat beating out on the monitor beside him. Eventually his mother had gotten a call, picking up Angel and headed to the hospital, a worried mess. She kept the young girl close to her, heading to the assigned room that the Nurse whispered out, her heart dropping by seeing him asleep like that. It was a couple hours before he re-awoke, looking over to Angel crying, his mother running her hands through the black locks that fell down her shoulders. 

"Baby girl, hey.." Rhys whispered out, Angel running over and hugging him. He kissed her forehead, rubbing her back, before getting up, pulling the IV bag with him. What it was for, he wasn't sure, but he had to know. He carefully stood, Angel and Delilah watching his slow movements. "Rhys, sweetheart, you just woke up, sit back down." Rhys shook his head, slowly, and slowly walked, letting the sleep wear off with his sudden movements. He rushed in, he tried his best to watch where the gurney had taken the bloodied mess, his body quaking. Room 342, back corner. He stepped in, shaking. A doctor was standing in there, looking to Rhys. "Son, you need to go back to bed, you seem to be in no shape to move." Rhys took a breath, hissing out that this was  _HIS_ husband, and that he wasn't about to sit down without knowing what the hell was going on. 

He made his way to the couch, sitting, eyes unable to move off of the body that laid nearly perfectly still, he choked out a sob, coughing violently as it all wracked him. The doctor had stepped back, feeling pity for the man breaking down in front of him. He watched as the lithe body had stood, only to collapse gently by the body, sobbing out that he was an asshole for leaving him like that. For not coming with them for what they had planned for the last couple of years. Rhys sobbed out onto his chest, begging to hear the tick of his heartbeat in his ear. He begged, shaking. He just wanted to hear the simple sound of a beating heart. He sobbed, holding tightly onto the burnt Jacket, two slips of paper slipping out of the charred pocket from the inside, the pictures no where near perfect, but still tangible. Rhys sobbed, holding onto him, begging to feel anything. The rise of his chest, the exhale of breath. He begged and begged to whatever celestial being listening to bring back the man he called a husband, the man who was called a father. He stayed there, his hand entangled in Jack's, screaming that he had promised to see to Angel's wedding, that he would help Rhys whenever needed. He had vowed at the alter that it would be forever, and that Rhys would never be waking up alone. 

Rhys was eventually pulled off of Jack, Delilah holding him close, rubbing her little boy's back, kissing the top of his head, giving him as much comfort as she could, letting the doctor recheck vitals and everything, in any hope that he was still there. Bullet holes has pierced through his arms, a higher place in his chest, and his thigh. Nothing truly vital, but it all depended. Delilah quickly brought Rhys back to his room, hearing the sobs continue as he laid in the bed, not responding to anyone as his mind had flooded with grief again. 

Rhys didn't even get to tell Jack that he loved him. They had parted that night with an outrageous fight. Every word full of spite and sadness, and now the memory was covered and saturated in regret and remorse. 


	4. Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short Chapter to move this along. Sorry for it being so short.

Soft, grassy plains. A gentle hand overlapping one covered in cuts and calluses. There's an unbreakable silence- for even if either could think of a sentence to say, the gentle wind seemed to carry it away. A thousand words were carried away. 'i'm sorry', 'I wish you didn't have to suffer', 'I love you', every word, every phrase, carried away by the silence. The gentle hand laced their fingers with the bigger calloused hand, holding tightly onto the life that was seeming to be fleeting. He pressed his lips to the bruised hand, one that dealt with life, one that knew ways that were different from a regular everyday life. 

Rhys looked up to Jack, gently squeezing onto the calloused hand, before the wind had stopped. The silence was broken. A gentle, 'I'm here' was given to him. Rhys sobbed gently, holding onto him. Jack rubbed his back gently, pressing his lips onto his forehead as he felt the small boy shake and shudder. There wasn't a lot to give him. There wasn't a way Jack could convey that all that had happened was over. That his grave wasn't dug yet. That he could breathe without the weight of the world bringing them down. Rhys held onto him, sitting in his lap. 

"Don't leave me you asshole." He sobbed gently, holding himself to Jack. There was no way he could just leave after everything. He held a death grip onto him, his shirt bunched up in his fist, his body trembling as tears just fell over his red cheeks. Jack kissed the side of his head. It's okay, he'd say. There's nothing to worry about, he'd continue. Rhys kept himself flush to his body, holding onto the life that was there. Holding onto the heart that gave a soft rhythm of beats. 

"It's nothing to fear, Rhys. We're here. I'm alive, nothing's happened to take me away from you." Rhys would nod, before Jack got a call. He would hold Rhys as he would pick up. Another drop to be made, another body to be shot. He'd kiss Rhys, and stand. Rhys would beg for him to send someone else, but Jack never did. That wasn't how he'd work. 

Rhys would return home and keep Angel company, watching the little girl play with her toys, watch movies, color, anything. It was a little family, but it was a good family. Besides the always present danger, it was perfect. He would snuggle up on the couch or take Angel to the Zoo, never suspecting a thing. He had faith that nothing bad would happen again. That the flames of destruction wouldn't come back around. That they would just remain the distant memory they should be. 

 

Jack, however, was scarred horribly. His face destroyed, arm torn up. Everything he had was now nothing but synthetic. He sighed, heading to the next location of trade, swigging a long gulp of alcohol from the wood decorated flask that he carried in his pocket. He sighed, the Rival boss showing up, a thick wad of cash in his palm. Jack tossed him the package, not wanting to get closer to the disgusting man. He always had hated this man. They once were great friends, once they got along, until his mouth formed vulgarities against his little girl. That had gotten Jack to shoot the man in the arm, rendering the limb a bit restricted. 

"I miss when we talked, Jack." He purred out, cash still in his hand. Jack growled, not feeling any necessity to continue talking with someone so worthless. "Just give me the promised cash." The man sighed, tossing the wad to Jack, before leaving. He had no reason to shoot him today. There would be a day though, where he would have a reason to. Jack got back into the car, two of his people sitting back, ready at the arms in case that someone would either be witnessing, or would be sent after the car. Jack started the engine, driving off, all three talking casually, still vigilant of anyone who might cause problems. 

Jack sighed as the scenery had continued to pass by, his thoughts drifting to coming home and making it up to Rhys, making it up to Angel. He dreamed of spoiling them both with everything he could. Attention, chocolate, flowers, everything he could afford. Jack smiled slightly, letting both of the boys off, before he pulled into his home, Angel sitting on the front porch. 

Jack walked over, before he heard a soft whimper. He knelt down, heart dropping. Just what had happened? He pulled the little girl into his arms, who hugged him tightly. 'What's wrong, Angel?' Angel held onto him, before she just said that Rhys was gone. 


End file.
